A Little Snape Snippet One Shot
by moonlitefaery
Summary: Our Potion's Master is afraid he's losing his touch


AN: I know I need to work on my other two stories but school is entering chaos stage at the moment and I need to go back through and reread both of them before writing onto them (a task I will DEFINITELY work on during winter break, I assure you). But I had the idea for this story out of the top of my head and I had to write it down quick. Obviously this isn't DH compliant as you'll note but I thought the idea was cute. There isn't really much that needs to be explained as to the background of the story, its merely for quick entertainment. Enjoy and as always I do not own anything in reference to HP; that belongs to the lovely Miss Rowling.

A Little Snippet

The air always seemed so dark and heavy in the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The smell of yesterday's potion brewing still hung in the air that seemed suspiciously like sage, papyrus and beetle wings. Towards the front of the stone room sat a large mahogany desk and on that desk sat a tall dark haired man. His hair, longer than he usually kept it, seemed greasy in the dim light due to the exposure of cauldron fumes throughout the day. His previous thin frame had filled out after the fall of the Dark Wizard years ago, though fit and trim for a man entering his mid-forties. His skin no longer held a shallow gauntness of his younger spy filled days when every day spelled out potential death with the possibility of one small misstep. The only recognizable features he had kept from those days were his large aquiline nose and dark reflective eyes. It was currently these eyes that were equally fixed at the young children sitting before him on scarred desks that have seen thousands of young witches and wizards, himself included.

'They get smaller every year.' The man smirked to himself as he watched their large doe eyes staring intently at the figure before them. Their attention to him was intense; his ability to command a classroom had not been diminished with the end of the war. He stood up and slowly walked towards the children in question while folding his arms tightly across his chest, like a bat folding in its wings.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. [...] I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." He never had to raise the decibel of his voice even to adults to get his point across. Losing one's temper was a trait his father had endured and Severus Snape vowed never to become like the man that sired him. Instead he commanded his attention not just through his frightening stature but by his ability to articulate an insult at a moment's notice, usually leaving the other party confused and wondering what the hell just happened. The children remained still at their desks, not so much as making the smallest of noises or moving a single toe out of line. The dark haired man smiled in satisfaction.

It was precisely at this moment that the man in question noticed the figure of the Transfiguration Mistress lingering in the dull light of the hallway outside. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun to hold in place during school hours and her maroon robes floated about her airily. Her mouth was set in a grim line and her arms were crossed in front of her chest in annoyance. It was a look he had been witnessed to for many years, one that reminded him of her mentor at times.

"Severus Snape! How many times must I tell you not to practice your first year's speech in front of the twins!" The voice of Hermione Granger Snape howled back at him. The children in question, no more than two years of age, glanced back and forth between their bickering parents, still not making so much as a single sound. The man smirked at the angry expression on his wife's face as she picked up their daughter and grabbed their sons hand to walk them out of the classroom.

"Still got it." He said to himself as he followed behind the small group.


End file.
